The Question
by pretend-to-care
Summary: Watson has an important question that he isn't quite sure how to handle. Holmes attempts to offer him advice with all of his wisdom...or lack thereof, in this field. No slash, R&R!


**Disclaimer: I do not own Watson, Holmes, or Mary! Or Obama, or Anne Hathaway, or Ewan McGregor, or Val Kilmer. Or most of the population of the world. **

**A/N: This originally was a great idea, but I had to put it on hold for a day or two partway through, so I lost some of the atmosphere. I feel like Holmes is wildly out of character, so I apologize and please please please bear with me. Other than that, enjoy! **

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Watson stared at Holmes from across the room, and Holmes stared back. They were both waiting for him to ask.

It was a question that was inevitably destined to come up, not because Holmes had any more experience in the matter—truth be told, he probably was less knowledgeable than Watson when it came down to it—but because time and time again over the years, Watson had come to trust Holmes's advice, no matter how completely backwards it originally seemed. However, it wasn't a question to slip casually into conversation, or to mumble on the way to bed, or to bring up with an 'oh, that reminds me….' It was a question that was to be dealt with all on its own, in a comfortable, safe, and familiar environment with very few witnesses as to its asking and subsequent answering. This question was about something that could very well make or break a man.

Yet it was a question Watson could not find the words to express.

"Go on, doctor," Holmes prompted. "Although you do make a very nice bump on a log, my backside is beginning to ache and I have things to attend to. Dogs to poison, nannies to bother, children to yell at, men with big noses to insult. So if we could just…move this right along…I would much appreciate it."

"Holmes, I…."

"Yes, Watson?"

"I-I…."

"Yes…?"

"…Holmes, I—"

"For the love of Queen Victoria, spit it out, man!"

Watson gave him a look. "I was about to." He cleared his throat, picking at his cuticles sheepishly. He glanced up at his friend and suddenly the question burst forth. "Holmes, how do you propose to a woman?"

Holmes smiled and stood up, making a move to leave the room now that his purpose was served. "Very gently, with lots of flowers. And a kitten, wearing a small tuxedo."

"Holmes! This is serious!" Watson said indignantly.

"I think you are old enough to figure this out on your own. After all, you are a doctor."

"_Sit back down_," Watson ordered.

Holmes, looking a tiny bit alarmed, inched back to his chair and sat down.

"This…this is monumental, Holmes," Watson said.

"Indeed." Holmes slumped in his chair, clearly showing that he did not think it monumental at all.

"Easily one of the most important things I will do in my life."

"Arguably."

"I…I can't even begin to explain how I'm feeling." Watson was looking at the ground now, not quite talking to Holmes anymore.

Holmes was staring out the window. "Oh look, a bluebird."

"I love her so much, Holmes."

"Well, I wouldn't go so far as that."

"I'm going to _marry_ her."

"The bluebird?!"

"No, Holmes! Mary!" Watson exclaimed.

"Ah, yes. Of course. Good, because I believe a union between man and bluebird is, quite frankly, illegal." Holmes removed his eyes from the bird and looked back at an unamused Watson. "Please, continue."

The doctor sighed. "I want to spend the rest of my life with her. How do I tell her that? I…I don't even know where to start."

"Well, the first step would be a girl. Luckily we have one of those," Holmes said. "Secondly, a ring would be nice."

"I have a ring, Holmes."

"Excellent. You're coming along wonderfully," Holmes smiled. "Now, you know what to say?"

Watson opened his mouth, then shook his head. "No."

"Okay. Well. It's very simple." Holmes stood up again, holding his hand out towards Watson. "Give me the ring, Watson."

The doctor looked hesitant. "I…I'm not sure if that's the best idea, Holmes."

"It's a diamond, is it not?"

"Yes, of course."

"A real one?"

"_Yes_, Holmes."

"Then I think you'll find that I'll have trouble breaking it," he said. "I only need to borrow it for a minute."

Watson sighed. "Fine. Be _very_ careful," he said warningly, handing Holmes the little box from his pocket.

Holmes flipped it open and looked inside. "Oo. You have wonderful taste, Watson. Now!" He closed it again. "You want to…urge her into conversation, first off. Just a few words, nothing more." His eyes lit up with a sudden idea. "Pretend I'm you."

"…why?"

"I'm you, and you're Mary. This is a little bit of acting here, Watson, use your imagination. I'm sure you have one." Holmes cleared his throat, snatching Watson's hat. "I must get into character. If you will excuse me." He marched to the door and stepped out, slamming it behind him.

"You better come back!" Watson yelled. "Holmes?" There was no answer and he slumped, sighing.

Suddenly the door was flung open and Holmes marched in, wearing Watson's hat. He glanced over at Watson and smiled. "Oh hello, Mary."

Watson blinked. "Um…h-hello."

"You're doing well, I see," he observed.

"Yes…well. Very, uh…well."

"Why, whatever are you doing in Holmes's room?" Holmes asked. He narrowed his eyes, Watson widened his.

"Nothing, Hol—John…I was just—"

"Just what, Mary? Just _what_?" Holmes folded his arms, glaring at Watson. "I have been courting you for months, and you're gallivanting through my best friend's quarters!"

"I was not _gallivanting_, Holmes!"

"Oh! Now you're mistaking me for him, are you? Well this is just glorious!" Holmes flung his arms into the air, knocking his stolen hat askew. "I was coming to propose, but if you really want to become Mrs. Holmes then be my guest!"

Watson put his hand over his eyes. "This isn't working, Holmes."

"I am _Watson_!"

"No, _I _am Watson. Pause, Holmes, stop. This is ridiculous."

Holmes removed the hat. "I agree. That was the wrong approach. Don't do that, Watson."

"Believe me, I was far from planning to," Watson grumbled. "The last place Mary would ever be is your room."

"Excellent point. Allow me to try again." Confidently he placed the hat on his head a second time.

"Holmes, I don't think—"

He was out the door before Watson could finish. The doctor sighed and waited for him to reenter.

"Good afternoon, Mary," Holmes smiled, coming in again.

"Good afternoon, John," Watson replied cordially.

"How has your day been thus far?" Holmes asked as he sat down.

"Oh, just wonderful…darling."

"Mary…I love you."

"I love you too, John dear," Watson said politely.

"I love you like a small child loves a caramel apple," Holmes continued.

Watson suppressed a twitch. "Yes. I…know?"

"I would like to make you mine forever, Mary," the sleuth said earnestly. Slowly he knelt in front of Watson and opened the little black box. "Will you marry me, Miss Morstan?"

Watson was minorly unsure how to respond. "I…I…."

"You're hesitating," Holmes said. "Are you…reluctant?"

"No, no! I'll marry you," Watson said quickly.

"Oh good," Holmes said brightly. "You know, of course, that we must visit Holmes often."

"Of…of course."

"At least thrice a week. And we must live nearby."

"Well Cavendish Place is only—"

"Perhaps we shan't even leave! My quarters here are certainly big enough for two, and—"

"Holmes, that's quite enough," Watson said. "If you're going to help me, you are going to _help_ me, and so far you are not doing a very good job of helping me."

"I'm sorry, Watson," Holmes said. "I feel I'm going about this all the wrong way."

"Who would've thought," the doctor said dryly.

Holmes stood up, clapping the ring box open and shut as he thoughtfully paced. "Perhaps a cake, with the ring hidden inside. Does she like cake, Watson?"

"I'm not proposing with pastry, Holmes."

"Yes, of course, you're right. Horrible thing, dessert. I never eat it more than twice a day anyway. Hmm, what else? Perhaps you save her life?"

"From _what_, Holmes?" Watson wondered.

"Oh, I suppose a small house fire could be arranged."

"No!" Watson shouted, appalled. "I am not setting my future wife's house on fire!"

"Oh you wouldn't have to light a match, Watson, I would do it."

"You would blow up the entire street!"

"We're setting fire to a house, doctor, not a stick of dynamite," Holmes answered.

"Out of the question, Holmes," Watson snapped.

"Okay…perhaps she could save you."

"No."

"I didn't think so." Holmes rubbed his stubble-studded chin, deep in profound thought. He gasped with delight. "Perhaps a musical number!"

Watson looked panicked. "No, Holmes."

"Yes! Yes, a rousing song of love!" Holmes was excited now. "Allow me to demonstrate," he said.

The doctor groaned. "Oh, Holmes. No, please."

"Mary," Holmes sang in a deep bass.

"Don't even begin."

"I must confess…."

"No, no. I don't want you to confess anything."

"With every day that passes, I hate you less and less…."

"I'm not going to say that!"

"Mary, Mary Morstan!" Holmes was getting louder now, and beginning to dance. "Together we'll have more sons, than ever you imagined there could be! We'll have lots and lots of puppies and maybe a few guppies, and in the back garden you'll grow peas!"

"Peas don't even grow here, Holmes!"

The detective was completely swept up in his song. He was flinging Watson's ring through the air and catching it in various odd positions. "You can make me toast, oh it's you I love the most! I'm your medical man, just put this ring on your hand, and all over London we will go! We'll spend all day together, hey look a little feather, and every single day we'll visit Holmes!"

Watson was holding his head, deeply regretting everything. He looked up just as Holmes was ricocheting off the bed, hat in one hand and ring in the other, and landing on one knee in front of him. "So please, my little darling, hear this song that I sing, and please please please please—"

"Holmes!"

"—_please_ accept this ring!" With that, Holmes took Watson's hand and pushed the wedding band onto his finger.

Watson shook his head. "Are you quite finished?"

"Oh come now, Watson. I thought that was quite good."

"Just what chemicals were you experimenting with last night, Holmes?" Watson muttered.

"I'm not quite sure," Holmes replied, falling back onto his back on the floor. Watson snorted, pulling the ring off.

Or trying to.

He froze. "Holmes…."

Holmes had placed Watson's hat over his face. "Yes?"

"…it's stuck."

"What's stuck?"

"The ring. I can't get it off."

He tipped the hat up. "What?"

"I can't get the ring off my finger, Holmes!" Watson said, slightly panicked.

Holmes pushed off the hat and sat up. He grabbed his friend's hand and tugged on the wedding ring, but it was stuck tight. "Dear me, Watson, what did you do?"

"What did _I_ do?! You're the one who put it on!"

"You're the one who had a second helping of pie last night," Holmes grunted, pulling on the ring with all his strength.

"Ouch, Holmes, that hurts," Watson exclaimed.

"Life hurts, doctor. Goodness, it's really stuck, isn't it."

"You're a madman," Watson hissed. "You are a literal madman."

"John?"

Both of them looked over as Mary pushed open the door. She looked at Watson. Holmes looked at Mary. Mary looked back at Holmes. Watson looked dedicatedly at the ceiling. Finally Holmes cleared his throat, scuttling over on his knees and pulling Watson with him. He held out Watson's arm like a peace offering.

"Watson has something to ask you," he said.

Watson slowly brought himself to look at Mary, sighed, and said with a smile, "Will you marry me?"

Mary burst into laughter, putting her hands over her mouth. "Yes, John, I…I will."

He grinned, relieved. "O-Okay!"

Holmes beamed.

"I believe that ring belongs on _my _finger, however," she giggled.

"Yes, this is…just a little technical issue," Watson said. "We'll have it off of my hand and on yours in no time, right Holmes?"

"Yes, of course!" he said cheerfully. "Simply allow us a minute or two!" The detective turned to Watson. "See? You had nothing to fear."

Watson shook his head. "Just let go of my hand, Holmes."

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**Hope you were able to withstand the ridiculous amount of OOCness! R&R, if you please! **


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